December241978 – The day I died
by IslanderBib
Summary: Ever wondered how Dwayne came to be one of the boys?


_Disclaimer: The boys and the places not mine at all. Unfortunatelly..._

_**December-24-1978 – The day I died**_

On Christmas Eve, Santa Carla was a lonely place. It wasn't exactly the place where people wanted to spend their Christmas vacation. It was cold, and the fog rose earlier and was even thicker in winter.

The Boardwalk reminded of a ghost town. The rides and shops were closed for winter; and the bars, restaurants and bowling allies closed earlier than during the busy summer season.

I was alone on the beach. At least there was no one to see and no one to hear. It seemed as if all the bonfires you could see here during the summer never existed. The dark waves washed silently against the dark shore.

Wondering why I'd come here of all places, I sat down onto the fog-dampened sand. It would be far too cold to spend the whole night here. Maybe if I went to the pier, or rather beneath it … I wondered where all the other runaways who spent their nights there during the summer were in winter.

That's what I was: a runaway. And Christmas Eve seemed just the right day for finally taking off.

Home had never been what all the books and TV shows tried to tell you it was like. Dad came home drunk every night and, since mum took off with my little sister four years ago, it was me who got the brunt of his anger. That was in case I was home. I always tried not to be. The next morning, however, he'd feel bad about it and try to make up for it by slipping me some notes. Paying me off.

Mom hadn't been wonderful either, though. I wasn't even sure my sister was truly my sister; probably half-sister for what I knew. Genuine whore, that's what she was. I bet, wherever my sister is these days, she's become just the same as the ol' bitch.

So, here I was: on the beach, alone. Avoiding home – or whatever you'd call that hell. I'd been with my buddies all evening. Until I told them I wanted to be alone for a while. Nobody would be concerned. We were only hanging out together so that we wouldn't be alone. No best friend crap, no worries for others, just being together.

I still wasn't sure why exactly I'd come here of all places. But sitting there, all alone, on the beach, on Christmas Eve, it felt like not only a damn good day to run away, but to die even.

Maybe I was just being kinda melodramatic, however.

That's when I heard them: several motorbikes going way too fast behind me on the Boardwalk. When I looked around I saw them – there were three – driving down the steps leading onto the sandy beach. They were coming right at me.

I jumped up and ran away, driven by some inexplicable survival instinct, into the water. Or was it the wish to die on my own will, rather than being killed by some freaks?

I was in up to my hips when the sound of their motorbikes died and everything was quiet again. I turned around to find them climbing off their bikes, staring at me and then talking to each other in low voices. Now and again one of them would look at me and smirk or laugh.

I was getting cold, but I didn't dare go back. However, I couldn't bring myself to look away either.

They seemed to be about my age. But their appearance was completely different from my Indian looks. All three of them were blond, and had similar yet different haircuts. One of them wore a richly embroidered jeans jacket and had a baby face. The other a rather simple leather jacket and his hair was a wild mane. The third had a long, black coat, peroxide blonde hair – and every bit of the determined appearance of a leader.

After a while they sat down and watched me expectantly. This was going too far; I wasn't going to let myself be intimidated by a couple of guys who didn't seem so different from me. Who were they? Why were they here? Why didn't they leave?

Reluctantly, I made my way back to the beach, shivering when my cold, wet clothes stuck to my skin and felt even colder from the icy air.

"What do you want? Why are you here?" I asked, approaching their little group.

"We're here for you, Dwayne." – Dammit, how did that guy know my name?

"Me? I don't even know you guys!"

"Come with us, Dwayne." The – obvious – leader said; his voice was luring and there was only a small part of my mind left untouched by it. I tried to cling onto this small part.

I shook my head in response, but he only laughed.

"Who are you?" I asked.

"We're just some guys like you. And we're here to give you what you want."

I didn't understand what he meant.

"A place to call home, people to belong to: a family, Dwayne. A family of four brothers. C'mon Dwayne, you know you want to come with us."

Home? Family? Wasn't that what I was running away from?

"Yeah, Dwayne, come with us." The other two guys shouted enthusiastically.

I don't know what had me really consider their offer – their demand. But really, what did I have to lose? If they wanted to kill me, they could go ahead; if they didn't, maybe I really could – against all odds - have a real home. Maybe not picture book family. But I wasn't so sure I even wanted picture book. Maybe what they offered was what I wanted: just some boys with the same idea of life: motorbikes, parties, fun.

"Okay," I decided. I could still decide otherwise, if I didn't like tonight, right?

The leader smiled smugly, and his companions cheered.

"I'm David." The leader held out his hand.

"Dwayne," I replied shaking his hand, though, obviously, he already knew that.

"Paul," David said, indicating the taller of his companions, the one with the leather jacket, "and Marko," he added, indicating the one with the embroidered jeans jacket.

"Hey, Dwayne," they called in unison, grinning conceitedly.

"Get your bike, Dwayne," David demanded – and he had that tone you wouldn't dare oppose.

I walked back up to the boardwalk where I'd left my bike, but behind me, David made me go faster with one hell of a self-righteous, amused, but still luring sing-sang.

I could hear the screams of the occasional seagull. They sounded like warnings, but I couldn't care less about some birds.

"Faster, Dwayne, faster! You gotta fly!" He stretched the last syllable the way I could see his grin widen. Though he had to raise his voice over the crushing waves, it still sounded like a seducing purr, as I climbed my bike. I started the engine. I was shivering slightly when I was on top of the stairs, but I wouldn't let them notice that I even had the thought of fear. I drove down the stairs and each step made me feel like my brain was spinning loosely inside my skull. I had to hold on tight to the handlebars.

The others were already back on their bikes, when I came to a halt next to them.

"Okay, let's go home."David and his boys let their engines roar and I had trouble keeping up with them. We drove zig-zagging along the beach, beneath the pier, through town, to the outskirts, the woods, back towards the sea. I couldn't see much out there. Only the backlights of the other motorbikes. And I couldn't hear anything apart from their roaring engines.

When we seemed to have reached our destination, I realized we had come to a place called Hudson's Bluff. I had once been there, "parking" with a girlfriend, but she had claimed that it was too spooky out here.

I wondered what they – we wanted here, for they all started coming to a stop and climbing off their bikes. I was still idle on mine, feeling a little strange and unsure.

I had been planning on running away this night, and joining some boys who'd might make this easier wasn't bad, was it? And they ought to have at least some kind of roof above their heads, didn't they?

"Hey, Dwayne?" David shouted over the sound of waves crashing against the cliff beneath us. "Having second thoughts?"

"Rather be home with Mommy,eh, Dwayne?" Marko laughed.

"Have a cup o' warm milk before bed, Dwayne?" Paul suggested.

"No!" I stopped the engine and climbed of the bike. "No, of course I don't have second thoughts."

"Well then, home we go, precious boy." David smirked and led the way, his two companions close behind him.

"Be careful with the steps, Dwayne!" I heard Paul, but I didn't see him. Without the headlights it was pitch dark, and I suddenly felt the ground beneath me gone – for a half second before my foot reached a step. I kept close to the cliff side and carefully tried for every step first with my heart racing ferociously.

I could hear Marko and Paul whisper until David ordered them to stop, but I couldn't make out much else.

"You've nearly made it."

I saw a lighter flicker for a moment and then a torch was showing me the last three steps to take.

Having reached the bottom, I was led over to an opening in the cliff, a cave really. It had all the usual warning signs up: _Keep Out, Danger, No Trespassing, No Entry_. But it was clear we wouldn't stick to them, or what would have been the business of coming down here?

Inside, however, I nearly froze. This wasn't just a cave, this was …

"It was Santa Carla's fanciest resort last century," David began to explain.

"Too bad it was built on the Saint Andreas gap," Paul went on. "Whole place's been swallowed up by the big one in 1906. Now it's our home."

Marko was busy lightning more torches and I could see more and more of the unexpected beauty and greatness of the place. It was unbelievable how much of the old hotel had survived that earthquake, that fall. The reception desk was nearly without a scratch – apart from the wear of time. There were usable armchairs, a chaise longue; I could even see a usable four-poster. There was an old fringed lamp and a huge old painting, showing Santa Carla's shore as it used to be in the 19th century. There were also more recent things, apparently brought here by the boys; like a huge poster of Jim Morrison, quilts, and a portable cassette player, which Paul started, filling the room – cave? – with the sound of The Doors's second album.

"Fantastic, isn't it?" Marko asked proudly.

"Amazing," I replied.

"Now make yourself feel at home," David, who had occupied the chaise longue, offered. "This _is_ going to be your home from now on," he added.

I wasn't exactly the timid kind, never had been, however, I couldn't get all comfy and at home yet. It was too strange to have lived in one place my whole life, and now, from one second to the next, be at home here, in this strangely beautiful, old hotel cave.

I decided to let the other go on with their business as usual and have a closer look at this place for a while.

The boys seemed to enjoy themselves and were talking in low voices. Although I had decided to walk around exploring, I felt a little like an outsider and was wondering how long it would take until I would be part of low-voiced conversations that no one else was meant to hear. But then again, I quickly pushed that thought aside. It hadn't even been an hour since they had made me join them and already I was behaving like a child outcasted by the others. I had to remind myself that the others had known each other for a longer time.

I came to notice a peculiar thing about the spacious cave and I went back to the others to ask them about it.

"Where do you guys sleep? I've only seen one bed so far."

"Oh, Dwayne, my young Indian," David purred. "You will find out soon enough. Until then, the four-poster will be yours."

"But why?"

David got up and held me by the shoulders. "No more questions tonight. You might be allowed them tomorrow, though." Then he shoved me down onto an easy chair. "Now, relax and have something to drink." He took his seat on the chaise longue again and then looked at Paul, who was leaning against the reception desk. "Paul, get the bottle."

Paul nodded and – snickered.

Then he brought over a bottle to David. No usual bottle at all; it was covered in some kind of metal with rubies and emeralds – or at least fake ones; an extraordinary bottle, just like this place.

David took a savoring sip and then handed me the bottle of wine. At least that was what I thought it was. I took a gulp, and this first mouthful tasted strange; it wasn't wine at all. It tasted somewhat metallic and thick. It was blood I realized. But I didn't find it disgusting; Okay, maybe I did; I was just too proud to show them. Still, I've never been one of those who get sick seeing blood; I somehow always liked its taste and had licked it from smaller cuts. Though, the very strange thing, actually, was to drink it from a bottle. And – how did it get in there? And why? And whose blood was it? Was it even human? And why on earth would they have me drink it? What kind of strange initiation rite was that?

I was considering asking them, but then everything got blurry, my head was spinning, and I felt incredibly dizzy. I blacked out.

When I woke up again I found myself lying in the four-poster. I didn't remember how I got there; someone must have brought me here, someone strong, because I had one hundred fifty pounds that needed to be lifted onto the mattress.

I drew back the curtains and saw sunlight pouring in the entrance. And though it was still a bit gloomy inside the cave, the light was too much for my eyes to take, I felt really –nearly insanely – blinded.

None of the others was around. There was no sign of anyone being awake; there was no one walking around, no one listening to music; but there was no one sleeping on the chaise longue or in an easy chair either, and, again, I wondered where they were sleeping.

I got up and started walking around, subconsciously looking for a clock, because I still felt damned tired – my lids were real heavy and my body functions felt as if they were on their lowest level – and yet had the feeling that it wasn't early morning, but rather early afternoon. That wasn't like me at all; I've always been an early riser, even if I had stayed up late and had had several drinks – which hadn't been the case last night, because midnight, or twelve thirty, wasn't what I called late, and since, as far as I knew, blood isn't a drink, I didn't have any drinks either.

When I couldn't find any clock, or rather any _working_ clock, and, luckily, had found a pair of sunglasses, I decided to step outside and try telling by the sun. I couldn't tell the hours or minutes, but I was confirmed in my assumption: the sun could already be seen over the sea, and on the west coast this meant it was going to set soon.

I started wandering around the tiny stone beach in front of the cave's entrance, reaching to the right side, towards the city. On the left, the water was reaching the cliff. I walked up to the point where stony beach, cliff and water met. The sea was shallow at that point and beneath the surface big, raw stones were threatening anyone idiotic enough to even think about cliff diving. I went back and then climbed up the staircase, trying to remember every step so I could find my way better the next time I had to walk these steps in the dark.

To walk up the stairs was exhausting, which was quite unusual, because I used to be quite fit. But I didn't want to give up, so I kept going. Maybe it was the blood after all. Not that drinking blood would make me feel sleepy and exhausted – how should that be? But maybe the boys had put some weird drugs in it? Why would David have had some it then? Though, perhaps that was why no one else had been around, maybe they had drugged themselves? A lot of questions and weird thoughts filled up my mind and I decided to ask David later.

Once up the cliff though I looked for a shady place to take a nap, but not before I had had a look down at the water. It looked even more dangerous from up here, and I drew back quickly from the edge.

I found a place under a huge tree, leafless this time of year, and soon after I'd settled down the sun was just above the horizon. The first bits of fog began to rise. I started to feel better now, stronger, more normal, but I still closed my eyes and fell asleep.

"He's lucky he hasn't fed yet."

"Yeah, woulda been a shame, I like him."

"Pile o' ashes wouldn't be much fun…"

Waking, I heard Paul and Marko talking. I couldn't make any sense of their conversation, though. Feeding? Ashes? Who, _what_ the hell were they talking about?

I kept my eyes closed, pretending to be still asleep, hoping to hear more and trying to make sense of what they said.

"D'you know what David's planned for him?"

"No, but I'd really like cliff diving."

"That's fun, but what if he doesn't make it and hits the water?"

"You don't have enough faith, Marko. He'll make it alright, he's cool."

"Yeah? Well, I'm in."

"You're in what?" David's voice joined in.

"Cliff diving, for his introduction to his new life."

"Cliff diving?" David asked amused. "This one?"

"Sure, you wanna go somewhere else?"

"It's not as high as the bridge. Paul?"

"He'll be fine."

"Alright."

Then I felt someone kick against my feet.

"He dead already?"

"No burn marks," Paul laughed.

I opened my eyes before they'd make more fun of me.

"Hey, sleeping beauty." David smirked. "Up for some fun?"

I felt great, no more exhaustion, no more heavy limbs and lids, not even the usual dizziness from waking up. I was up for anything. But I needed answers too.

"What's been in that bottle?"

The others laughed, Paul suggested: "Had a hang over?"

"I wasn't myself," I tried to explain my suspicions.

"Don't worry, you will know soon."

That was all the explanation I got and had to expect.

Paul and Marko walked to the edge of the cliff. David waited for me to join them.

Cliff diving! They meant it. And they'd talked about the very cliff I had inspected earlier. That was suicide!

But even before I could utter any warning, before I had reached the point where Paul and Marko had stopped, Marko flung himself off the cliff, into the thick fog that had risen since the afternoon.

There was no splashing sound, no cry of pain, only Marko's far away laugh.

"Come on, Dwayne," Paul said and off he was, off the cliff, into the fog, laughing like a mad man.

Maybe they weren't actually jumping off into the water, onto the stones. Maybe there was a ledge I hadn't seen that afternoon and they were only tricking me?

Now David was standing on the edge, daring me to join this madness.

"What's going on here?" I asked.

"What's going on here, Marko?" David repeated my question, not much louder though than I had, but when Marko answered, "I don't know," his voice sounded far away. Still I could hear him very clearly, it was as if I could even hear how far away he was, and that he was – up in the air!

"What's going on here, Paul?" Marko also asked.

"Who wants to know?"

"Dwayne wants to know."

But instead of answering me the three boys laughed, laughed at me.

"Do it, Dwayne," David insisted. "Now." And with that he was gone as well. He had let himself fall off with his back first.

I took a very deep breath, and I could smell everything that was in the air: the individual trees – they really have all different smells – and the sea, and all the small animals that were hiding under the earth, in the trees, under leaves and roots. And I could smell the blood pumping through their small hearts. But, and this was strangest, I couldn't smell the boys, and I couldn't smell myself.

And a thought started creeping into my mind, such a strange thought I didn't actually want to think about it: Vampires!

It was nonsense, humbug, fairytales. But it was the only thing that made any sense: the blood last night; the strange experiences today - the tiredness, the blinding, maddening sun, the sharper senses; even the remark about burn marks and hitting the water made sense; and the cliff diving madness started to make sense as well.

This was their way of showing me that they – I, we – had the ability to fly!

I've let myself in for something there, something huge! And now it was time to show them I could handle it.

So I flung myself off the cliff with my arms stretched out as if I was actually going to dive. And I fell; and I fell; and I started to think that my thoughts had been real absurd and I was going to die. There were no such beings like vampires; and humans weren't made to fly. The others must be on a ledge, laughing about my stupidity.

But I didn't die. I didn't hit the rocks or touch the water. I was floating in the air, my body taking control over my mind. And then there were the others right next to my, floating alongside me, cheering and laughing.

So, my weird assumptions had been right. Still, it didn't explain why I was still alive – or undead. I'd spent the afternoon in the sun; I should have burnt to ashes, right?

Marko was flying next to me, so I decided to ask him.

"Marko," I started, but I was interrupted by David asking if I was hungry. I hadn't been thinking about that before, however, now I felt that I wasn't only hungry, I was starving.

"Starving," I replied.

David made a sound like a confirmed and satisfied laugh. "Right," he said and we changed our direction.

"You were saying?" Marko then asked me.

"I was kinda wondering about, well, this afternoon…"

"The sun?" he asked. "Well, I hope you enjoyed it. It was the last time you saw it. After you fed tonight you're really gonna be one us."

I kept quiet, trying to make sense of what Marko'd just told me.

"Your first killing. You're only half a vampire as long as you haven't made your first killing. The sun's only unnerving your sensitive eyes and daytime's making you feel weak and tired in your present state, but it can't actually harm you yet."

I had to think Marko's words through. Feeding. Killing. Blood. Flesh. I hadn't thought of anything like that as I had said I was starving.

I felt torn: feeding on humans, drinking their warm blood, it was gross; and yet I couldn't wait to taste it, to still my hunger – Thirst? Longing?

I've had two choices: give in or die of starvation. No way! There was no second choice. I hadn't joined the boys to kill myself; I'd joined them to be part of a family. And if that meant being part of a family of vampires who killed other people, so be it!

Blood was still trickling down my chin while the ridge of my nose, my brows, my teeth grew back to normal. Everything felt kinda weird, unknown, but still, and for the bigger part, good, awesome. I was satisfied and I felt great. I felt _new_.

December-25-1978 – the day I was born anew.

* * *


End file.
